Painless
by Enlee
Summary: House gets ready to start his new life with Wilson. The sequel to "Possession". One shot. Please read and review!


There was only one window in the basement bedroom and it was blocked off by cardboard, lots of duct tape and thick curtains. Not that House needed any light. He could see everything sharply and clearly as if the lamp had been turned on.

His body was pressed against Wilson's, and it felt so right. So good and so right. Like they belonged together. It brought about a sense of comfort House hadn't felt in what seemed like ages. He felt whole again, not like an empty shell masquerading as a real person. Wilson was the missing piece that made him complete, something House had been searching for all his life and found in the last place he looked.

He was starting to feel restless and hungry, but it wasn't time to go out yet. The sun was still up and would be for at least another half an hour. He glanced down at Wilson; his friend was still sleeping soundly, and House didn't want to wake him. Wilson had a big night ahead of him--the first full night of his new existence--and he needed all the rest he could get.

House swung his legs over the edge of the bed and caught himself reaching for his pills. Whether he really needed the pills for his pain or not had never mattered in the end, he just automatically reached for them because they were there. His Vicodin pills feeding the addiction that had formed an ever tightening noose around his neck. Not anymore. No more pain No more pills. The next minute was spent choking down his laughter before he got up and paced around the room. Like being pain-free, walking still felt a bit weird without his cane, but House knew he had all the time in the world to get used to it. House snickered to himself. Time on his hands was something he had had plenty of before, endless hours spent brooding over his misery and depression in his empty apartment. But now he had someone there to share his time with.

House's eyes were drawn to his friend again, and he felt his breath catch in his throat. Wilson's dark hair had fallen across his closed eyes, his hands curled around the edge of the blankets. Wilson looked childlike, vulnerable…and gorgeous. House couldn't imagine his life without Wilson, then or now. His thoughts drifted back to Wilson's apartment and how he had tricked his way in. Unfortunate, but it had to be done. He did not to start his new life without him, and he didn't. But what if Wilson had said no? What if he had put up a fight? Would House have been able to bring himself to hurt him? Would House have been able to drag Wilson out of there against his will? Would he have been able to force his friend into a life he didn't want…_forever_?

Those questions were pushed out of House's mind as quickly as they had arrived. He couldn't answer them and thankfully he didn't have to answer them.

The man in his thoughts grunted and shifted around in his sleep. House grinned again and enjoyed the sensation of his fangs digging into his lower lip. Wilson was going to find his dreams were going to be as vivid as anything he could imagine…or couldn't. Colors, textures, smells, sounds--House found all that to be fascinating given the fact he was technically dead. No pulse, but he could still smell, still had a sense of taste, could still breathe. His eyesight was something else--he could see clearly enough in the dark to put all the cats in the world to shame. His mind was still as sharp as a tack. Yet his body was like a cold slab of meat on a grocery store shelf. He did have to admit that he missed the feeling warmth of when he had spooned up behind Wilson before they had gone to sleep that morning. But Wilson was there, sharing the bed with him. Having Wilson next to him more than made up for the little things he missed.

House sat on the edge of the bed next to his best friend. Wilson didn't stir. House traced a long finger down Wilson's cheek, marveling at the cold, smooth texture like marble. Skin that didn't feel like skin. Utterly and completely fascinating. He was so caught up in his observations that he nearly went the through ceiling when Wilson seized his wrist.

"Hey!" House yelped, as his friends eyes went as wide as a steering wheel. "Wilson…Jimmy…it's just me, remember? It's just me."

Wilson blinked as he sat up and looked around, the memory of what had happened the night before slowly coming into view, like taking a few steps back to see the big picture in a million little dots. "House," he muttered with immense relief. "I'm sorry…I was just--"

"Don't," House cut him off. "Don't apologize."

He was going to apologize anyway, but Wilson thought the better of it and just pulled House into a tight embrace instead, something his normally cranky friend didn't fight and strangely seemed to welcome. Wilson pressed against House's neck, smelling the blood beneath the surface. House had come back for him. For _him_.

The soft brown hair tickled House's chin. A series of soft kisses were dribbled along his neck and House nearly loses his bearings right then and there. It was so much easier to hate than to love. Needing and wanting someone to love was just a lie made up to sell greeting cards and flowers, at least that is what he always told himself when forced to confront his loneliness. House had wanted to hate Wilson because he hated the rest of the world, so what was one more person added to his list? Then Wilson had to turn around be there for him, be the one to see through his ridiculous charade, to catch him when he fell, be the one to push back. Wilson, the one man who took everything House threw at him. House had kept him at arm's length for quite some time and didn't even notice how Wilson got closer and closer until he was under his skin. By then it was too late, House couldn't have turned Wilson away even if he wanted to. Because he realized that he didn't hate Wilson. He could never hate Wilson. Because he needed him. He wanted him. He was consumed by him. He loved him.

House loved Wilson.

It would have been hilarious if wasn't so true.

"_Oh…God_…," Wilson moaned.

"What is it?" House looked into his eyes and was startled to see the anguish in them. Then House knew…it had been over twelve hours since he had taken Wilson as his possession. His, his, and only his. "You're starving, aren't you?"

Wilson nodded, his dark brown eyes saying all there was to say.

"I can give you a little something to tide you over. You can't take too much, Jimmy. You know why, right?"

Wilson nodded again.

"An appetizer before the feast. We'll have grand feast tonight," House promised his friend, then paused for a moment to let words sink in. Wilson didn't reply, just another nod of his head.

House pushed the collar of his shirt away and made a gash in his neck with his sharp nails. The blood barely had time ooze out before Wilson latched on to it like a predator moving in for the kill. Feeling the friction of Wilson's mouth against his neck, House closed his eyes and barely heard the moan escape his lips. His breathing became more erratic as his head filled with white noise. No pain, just an exquisite sense of building pleasure. Building and building until it threatened to become too much, to overpower him. Wilson wasn't going to stop, so House was forced to grab a fistful of his hair and wrench him away, which was followed by a string of protests from Wilson and expletives from both of them.

Both were shaken and giddy, all they could do for a few minutes was sit there until the room swam back into focus. House's eyes were fixed on Wilson's red mouth. Red because it stained with blood. His blood. House yanked his friend by the scruff of neck into a bruising, unforgiving kiss, plundering his mouth and tasting the blood that still clung to his friend's tongue. Wilson made no effort to resist; wrapping his arms around House's neck, an act which only added fuel to fire of House's lust. His frenzy continued until Wilson had to forcibly break away. Then it was House's turn to protest.

Wilson panted, "I'm hungry…we need to go…"

House looked at the clock and noted the time. Past sundown. There were spots of blood all over his shirt and Wilson's. He stood up and told Wilson to change into some fresh clothes as he walked over to the bureau and began rooting through it for a clean pair of jeans.

"House?" he heard as he pulled a clean Jack Daniel's shirt from the drawer.

"Yeah?"

"Maybe later…after we get something to eat…we can pick up where we left off in here."

Laughing, House turned to see Wilson laughing right along with him. House hoped to hear that laughter a lot more in the future.

"You can count on it," House said.

--The End.


End file.
